For Tibet....
a prayer,
a moment of silence,
and heartfelt tears....
for Tibet.
i am ashamed
that we the world
have done so little to help.
for those tortured and detained
by a most oppressive regime...
for all those left without a home,
orphaned on their pilgrim's journey...
for those who dared to protest
even to self-immolation....
there are those of us who hear,
and weep....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Fuel Awareness
when you go out and crank
your car to go somewhere...
do you think about:
1. the family being bombed
...on foreign shores.
2. the soldiers killed
3. the politician stating the lie
4. the profit made
5. the air filled with smoke
6. the oceans defiled by oil
7. the sea life killed
8. the food chain broken
9. what happens when the oil is gone
10. the costs, both in human and animal life,
....and in natural resources.
11. whether walking might be a better option!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Stranger!
everything into the pot...
hearts, souls, dreams, prayers,
old and young, flavors and colors
diverse... simmering, simmering...
keep the fire steady.
seasoned with experience,
with turmoil, and trials..
we wait in dead silence
for the feast to come.
great birds circle, clouds heavy...
with rain... all must come,
or none, it just happens that way!
in the distance faint music,
there's a knock on the door...
the Stranger has arrived,
and time has expired!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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They Call This Revolution...
they call this revolution...
bare knuckled, bruised lip,
fist fighting, scuffing,
for food to eat...
the garbage of the elite,
stinking of excess.
struggling,
for some kind of shelter,
for a fire and a bed...
equal rights? human rights?
just trying to live!
the anger of the oppressed
stains the sheets of the rich!
the faceless ones march
in the face of the big guns.
what's a life to lose,
when you have no way to live!
and they call this revolution...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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This Road
i took a long walk with Jesus
down a moonlit dusty road...
listening, just listening, to every word.
when we came to the place
where the road forked,
He smiled... and gave me
a match, a candle, and a rusted nail.
this road often empty,
i have come to know...
the voices of stillness,
and the sound of the water
breaking over the rocks.
when the darkness swallows me,
i stop, and light the candle,
rolling the nail in my hand.
and i wait quietly for the moon!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Mother's Grave
southern men just dont cry.
he stood by his mother's grave,
not a flinch, not a sound...
except cars passing by.
not a good son,
too many wild nights,
& run-ins with the law...
but he could still remember...
her dumplings, & the books
she read to him at night...
the way she taught him to think for himself,
told him never to follow anyone...
her old Bible, & her tired smiling eyes...
southern men just dont cry...
but weeping's a state of mind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Patches Of
patches of sunlight,
patches of clouds.
patches of Jesus,
patches of doubt.
patches of joy,
patches of pain.
patches of hope,
patches of strain.
patches of tomorrow,
patches of today.
patches of forever,
patches of 'cant stay'!
patches of loving,
patches of cold.
patches of youth,
patches of old.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Politician....
the stink of money,
rising from the words he hurls,
like torn pieces of bread,
to the flock of starving crows.
mind numbing phrases,
that drain all feeling from the souls.
light the pipe of apathy,
poverty dreams and illusions.
careful not to touch,
not to mingle with the crowd.
not to taint his holiness
with the common dirt.
his time is over!
his world has come to its end!
truth has risen from the ruins,
and demands payment!
the revolution is upon us!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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You Cannot Stop Me....
i am a free man by choice.
you've allowed me to read, to question,
and to reason....
now nothing you can do to me
will take away my freedom.
you can imprison or kill my body,
but this body is old and dying anyway.
you can silence my mouth,
but my eyes will sing.
you can pluck out my eyes,
then my feet will sing.
you can cut off my feet,
and my heart will sing.
you can bury my heart,
and the very earth will sing.
i am free!
you cannot stop me from singing!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Chill
a chill in the air,
drinking coffee, and listening
for the groan
of leaves beginning to turn.
and the sight of your eyes
undressing you heart
in the simplest moment...
the wrinkled smile, talking
softly about nothing....
and giving it meaning.
some things just are...
and destiny is a small wind
that blows the falling leaf
into the almost sound
of laughter on your lips...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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